


Ice

by DogStar19



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Funeral Pyre, Post- Death, Tragic Romance, drabble i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:37:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DogStar19/pseuds/DogStar19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yggritte is gone. Jon returns her to the North.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice

It felt like ice. That was all he could think. Like ice straight through his heart. First his uncle's disappearance, then his father's death, Robb too, and even the Lady Catelyn's death had affected him. But that had been some time ago, at least. He was a man grown, and had not cried for a loss. Crying would not raise the dead, and was not wont to do so in any case. 

Yggritte had been about to smile. Jon was sure of that much. The red haired woman had been about to lower her bow and he his sword, and they would fall into each other's arms, just like that. The heat of her as though they were back there, a lifetime ago in that cave. 

The black brother scolded himself for such thinking. Yggritte was a wildling, and he a crow. She was about to loose another arrow and put a stop his foolish heart. It was this thought that held back his tears. If the spearwife had been about to kill him it was just that she had met her end. Jon took a few deep breaths. Besides all of this, how many brothers had he lost? Their lives laid down and he was thinking of his broken oath(though Sam had assured him this was not explicitly true), and a dead wildling girl. The steward rubbed his face, scraggly stubble forcing an itchy pain into his hands, and stood. He had retreated to the same dis-used tower, where he had slept in those first months of his watch, but knew he must return to help with the burning of the dead. 

\---

Giantsbane's words echoed in Jon's ears as he built the pyre. [I]She belongs in the North.[/i] Thick broken planks, broken in the battle, made up the body of the mound and the crow had gathered as many thin branches as he could to fill the gaps. A small fire with a torch beside it burned not far away, providing little comfort as he worked.

The ice still pierced his heart, Lord Snow felt it with every pulse of the powerful organ. The ache had not left him, and he silently hoped it would stay, a reminder of love's folly. 

When the platform was finished, Jon turned, a grim look covering his face. Between the trees, beside the fire, [i]the body[/i] lay, kept from the snowy ground by a large, thick blanket. The young brother swallowed hard, walking stiffly to her. In a bridal carry which, in life, would have gained him a swift kicking, he carried the free woman to her pyre, his jaw set. When he laid her down he stepped back. 

Didn't people usually say words? What should he say? Yggritte was not one for soppy sentiments, nor false compliments. It would be an insult to provide these as he laid her to rest. Jon closed his eyes, stepping forward once more, he bent down to her still face, stroking a cold cheek with his gloved hand, and kissing her freckled brow. As the man withdrew, he murmured his final words to the woman he had loved. 

"I'm sorry."


End file.
